


Sessions

by MaddieFrickenClark



Category: Fear the Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: AU, AU No Zombies, Abuse, Alcoholic Maddie, Alcoholism, Alicia comes out, Alicia/Ofelia relationship, Child Abuse, Codependency, Daddy Issues, F/M, FTWD, Maddie hates therapy, Maddie is a murderer, Maddie is entering Amy Dunne territory, Maddie is the victim of abuse, Mommy Issues, Nick is Maddie's favourite, PTSD, Scars, Second Families, Sex, Smoker Maddie, Smut, Sociopathic character, Sociopathy, Suicide, Travis is a sweetheart, Underage Drinking, Violent drunk, Will add tags as I go, and I am scared for Travis, and a hell of a lot of alcohol, and abuse, apocalypse free au, bad mom Maddie, blended families - Freeform, but she goes anyway, fear the walking dead, ftwd au, in himym, kinky Maddie, mentally unstable protagonist, mentions of drug use, sex scenes, sociopathic protagonist, stepkids, subplot about Alicia's sexuality, suicidal character, the therapist is based loosely off of Robin's season seven bf, unhealthy relationship, violent protagonist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-09-19 10:45:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9436748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaddieFrickenClark/pseuds/MaddieFrickenClark
Summary: SessionsAfter an incident at the school where she works, Madison Clark is forced to attend therapy sessions with a local psychologist.A good liar, and well versed in the knowledge of what to say to convince people of a certain fact, Madison is ever the manipulative one.Session after session, she lets him formulate an image of her. Not a true image, though, instead it is one that she wants the world to see. A good, stable, caring mother, the epitome of functional, and not at all the woman she really is.Her therapist isn't stupid, though, and eventually he begins to see through her facade. She isn't what she claims to be. Hints of something cold, something violent, lurks beneath the surface. Something that contradicts the forced warmth, the show, that she puts on.Unresolved issues and a haunted past come to light as her therapist grapples with a series of questions.Just who is Madison Clark?And what else is she capable of?





	

Chapter 1  
Madison Clark disliked therapists. Hell, dislike wasn't even a strong enough word, she hated them, completely and utterly despised them. Harsh, she knew that, especially considering that she was a guidance counselor - practically a therapist - herself. It wasn't as though she loathed them all individually, as human beings, it was more that she hated their inefficiency. She knew how they worked, saw the way that they lied and how they said whatever would ensure that their clients paid for another session. She hated how they acted like they knew some magical solution to people's innermost problems. Society's idiots actually believed them, and Maddie thanked god (or whatever the hell actually existed) that she wasn't wired that way. She also thanked god that they couldn't read her thoughts because, damn, if anyone got in there they'd immediately know that she required more than a simple few therapy sessions.

She wondered why she had even gotten up that morning. Screw the school, she decided, why the hell should they be able to force her into a shrink’s office? She supposed that they felt bad after what happened, the incident, as it had become infamously known. Her colleagues had probably seen her reaction and had reported it back to the principal. A counselor shouldn't be able to look at death like that, to stare her potential demise without an ounce of fear, sadness, terror - of anything at all. 

That was why she was there, four o'clock on a Friday afternoon, standing in the waiting room of a therapist’s office. She'd never sought therapy before, her aforementioned repulsion seemed to imply that. She was only there because of the way that he had looked at her, brown eyes wide, pleading. 

“You need this, what you saw, what you experienced, wasn't something that you should just bounce back from. I love you, Maddie, and I know you thrive in the knowledge that you're this strong, self sufficient woman, but everyone needs a bit of help sometimes. Maybe just one session, just a casual chat to ensure everything's going okay in there.”

He'd pointed to her head, a grin filled his face. He was joking to make her feel better, it was his way of being supportive. She'd smiled back, yet her gesture was empty compared to his. If only he knew what it was really like “in there”, he'd then know that everything wasn't going okay. Everything had never been going okay, she'd been the way that she was forever.

“Madison Clark, the doctor will see you now.”

The doctor. Bizarre choice of words, she decided. Not ‘Doctor Someone’, just ‘The Doctor’. Very clinical, empty, impersonal. She'd seen a lot of doctors in her time. Gynecologists during her pregnancies, General Practitioners when her children were little and required flu shots or diagnoses of common colds, and even all of the doctors that had bustled around her son during his grueling heroin addiction. 

The addiction that she had let happen, that had happened because of her…

She stood up, hoisting her handbag onto her shoulder, and glanced around the room. It wasn't packed, especially considering the fact that there was about twenty chairs scattered about and only five of them were full. What was this session going to be like? She supposed she should just get into the office and see for herself. She'd been offered the choice of either one of three women or the only man. The man, obviously. She'd never related to women, unresolved mommy issues. She suppressed a laugh, it wasn't as though she had a shortage of daddy issues either. 

The receptionist flashed her a smile. One of those fake, forced ones, with the exposed teeth and disinterested eyes. The woman didn't bother to smile, it wasn't like she needed the receptionist to like her anyway. A quick stroll, high heeled pumps tapped at the floor, and she made her way into the room that the other woman had pointed out.

The door was already open, just a crack, but enough for her to peer into the room. She pushed at the smooth, white wooden surface and stepped inside. 

“Hello, my name’s Kevin.” The therapist, also known as the subject of her frenzied thoughts, smiled politely at her. He wasn't too young, maybe mid thirties, but still young enough to be her child if she were to have gotten pregnant during her many drunken teenage escapades. Thank god she hadn't, her children had experienced bad enough, and they'd been born to a woman in her thirties. 

He had caramel brown skin, lighter than her boyfriend’s chocolate colouring, but it suited him well. His hair was black and trimmed neatly, not curly but straight, and he was dressed in a pressed shirt and some jeans. Casual, good, she didn't want him to be all dressed up. She was clothed in what she had worn to work, herself.

“And I take it you're Madison Clark?”

“Maddie's fine.” The blonde tilted her head to the side, “not many people call me Madison.”

“Okay, Maddie it is then.” A sharp pause as he began to examine her. His eyes ran over her, like an animal examining its prey. Was this about first impressions? At least she wasn't drunk, that was a first, but she knew if she wanted to get out of these sessions, she had to appear stable. She wasn't a dysfunctional alcoholic in here, she was just a mother, a mother who had experienced something dire. “I read about the incident, a man named Arte Costa emailed me some details. I take it he's your boss?” An eyebrow raise.

“Yes, the principal the school where I work. I consider him one of my friends, that's probably why he got worried and insisted that I see a therapist. Ever the worrier, that Artie.” The laugh was fake, explicitly fake, and she prayed he didn't notice. 

“What you experienced was nothing short of traumatic, Maddie. I heard you reacted strangely, would you like to discuss the events?”

The blonde sighed. Damn she could really do with a cigarette, she decided. Smoking was an escape, not as good as alcohol, but a quick alternative nonetheless. She'd never tried to quick, that compulsion wasn't in her, and death was far from her biggest fear. Her fingers travelled down to her bag, enveloping the cigarette packet protectively. Just a drag, just one goddamn drag.

“Not really, he came, threw some empty threats about and was taken away. Nothing too drastic.”

“He threatened you with a firearm, just the thought of that's enough to shake even the strongest of people.”

“I'm alright, honestly, I'm only here because my boss insisted.”

Kevin shook his head. He appeared to be of Indian descent, but his American accent seemed to indicate that he was born in the States, just like her. “I'm not saying that you're not alright, I’m just...it's...you see, I see a lot of people like you, everyday people who experience something traumatic. It's perfectly natural to experience nightmares, paranoia and sometimes even denial that you experienced anything. I need you to discuss what happened with me.”

The Incident. The notorious drama. The talk of all the teachers, students and parents. She'd been caught in the middle of it, like she was the epicenter and the rest of the school was the disaster. It had been an everyday day, one of those days where nothing much was happening. In her office, dealing with college applications, maybe relying a little too heavily on the vodka in her drink bottle. You couldn't smoke in the school, that hadn't stopped her though, and she was just igniting a cigarette when alarms sounded. A lock down. No one had sent her an email about a drill.

He'd been one of her clients, her students, her kids, from about four years earlier. Toby Winston, a kid from a broken home. Daddy would beat mommy (did that sound familiar for some reason?) and he'd be forced to watch. He was a bright kid, that was the main reason that she had encouraged him to accept the college scholarship. 

“But what about mom? I need to be at home to protect her.”

“I don't know your mom, but I think she'd want you to go, to pursue your passions, start a life of your own.”

Daddy had killed mommy while little Toby was studying away from home. Blunt force trauma, it had been all over the news.

“You fucking told me to go, you fucking killed her you bitch. If I'd been home, she'd still have been here.”

He'd burst into the school, one of his father’s rifles in one hand. He was going straight to the source of pain, the blonde beacon of teenage hope. Shots had been fired, ripping through the corridor and Toby had hurried toward her office. He knew it well, many lunchtimes had been spent within those walls.

She didn't lock the door, or even make any attempt to arm herself. Inhale, exhale, a gust of smoke slipped from between her red lips.

“I'm going to kill you bitch, the same way he killed her.”

By this point the gun was in her face. She suddenly envisioned brain matter and gore, her brain matter and gore, splattered against the pin board behind her. She then imagined darkness, she liked darkness, she had always liked darkness.

Her eyes had met with Toby’s. She wasn't afraid, why should she be? It was only supposed to hurt for a minute, just a minute and then nothing, nothing ever again. It sounded too good to be true. 

Carefully, her mouth opened, her words sharp, articulate. 

“Do it then.”

She wasn't suicidal, she couldn't be. She'd never do anything to herself, but then again she wouldn't jump out of the way of a speeding car either.

“The situation could have been so much worse, Maddie. You do know that, don't you?” Kevin’s voice brought her back down to reality.

“I know that and I'm thankful to my colleagues and the LAPD for preventing any further outcomes.” She sounded like she was making a police statement, but it wasn't like she could just tell him how she really felt.

“So death doesn't scare you?”

If only he knew how many times she'd looked death in the eyes. Last week hadn't been a first, and it wouldn't be a last either. “Not really, it's just a part of life, I suppose.”

He was taking notes. Some expensive looking fountain pen running across the page of a notepad that he was clutching. She wasn't entirely sure, yet it seemed a look of concern graced his faith. Was it really that alarming to not be concerned about death?

“Madison, it would be really important if you could run through how you felt on the day of the incident with me.”

The blonde nodded. He wasn't going to let her go until she gave him what he wanted to hear, and she needed to go. She was desperate for a cigarette and her craving for liquor wasn't helping her to think straight, either. A quick cough, damn her throat was dry, and he immediately offered her a glass of cold water. 

“It was just a normal day, and I was in my office working on some student college applications.”

“I take it that you knew Mr. Winston from before the event,” Kevin tapped the end of his pen against the open pad.

“Yes, yes,” Maddie shook her head slightly. “I counseled him about five years earlier. He was a good student and a nice boy. His mother’s death, at the hands of his father, which you probably saw in the papers, was most definitely the trigger. He was scared and angry…”

“That gave him no excuse to react like that. He endangered many people's lives that day, Maddie, including yours, and I think you still haven't realized just how lucky you are to have made it out unscathed.”

He tapped his pen again, cue an abundance of internal cringing on her part. 

“You can think what you want,” she murmured softly, “but I know that I am anything but lucky.”

“And would you care to explain what you mean by that?”

“Not really, I don't really mean anything.”

Yet it was glaringly obvious that they both knew that wasn't true.

X-X-X-X

He'd forced her to book another appointment for that following Thursday, and claimed that a lot could change in a week. She'd been hesitant at first but soon decided that declining therapy would look a lot worse than just attending the sessions. It wasn't as though she even had to tell him anything substantial either. The last hour of her life had consisted solely of her nodding, answering his questions and giving brief, and somewhat empty, recounts of her experience. That's what the next session would be like as well. It prevented the risk of anyone getting to close.

Her health insurance covered the fee, thank god, leaving her with enough money in pocket to pick up a bottle of something on the way home. Travis had just texted her, nothing lengthy, just a short ‘I hope the session went well, I'm missing you here at the house’ followed but a messy series of emojis. Her partner adored emojis, all the silly little pictures ranging from a thumbs up, to the kissing face and even back to the small poop. She never really used them herself, she was fifty one and she didn't have the time for silly little cartoon pictures at the end of her messages. Sometimes she'd send him a heart though, just enough to make him smile and think that she was just as infatuated as he was by the tiny icons.

The first thing she did, once she left the office, was light up a cigarette. She flicked on her lighter and watched as the white tip of the paper caught fire. It was somewhat beautiful to watch the cigarette burn, slowly disintegrate into nothing more than ashes. She pursed her lips around the orange end before she took a drag, inhaling its warmth down into her. She exhaled, a stream of soft, grey smoke escaping from her lips and wafting around her. In her own mind, she looked like a 1950s actress, all class and chic clouded in a veil of smoke, yet in the minds of everyone else she was just a chain smoking mother looking for a way to escape it all. 

She polished off three cigarettes in record time and made her way toward her car. A 1990-something Toyota Camry. She'd bought it second hand when her son was only tiny. Her previous car, an even older Camry, had packed up and she was in dire need of something that she could use to drive her little boy to daycare and playgroup in. Maybe she should have sold it years ago and purchased something more modern. She'd asked herself that numerous times, each always ending in her decision to keep the car. She liked it, and the fact that she couldn't afford any better, cemented her decision.

The drive home had been silent. The radio stayed firmly off and she was too plagued by her wandering thoughts to even care in the slightest. It wasn't as though Kevin was a bad man, and he seemed like quite a good therapist, it was more the fact that she just wasn't at all interested in sharing her thoughts with anyone. There were things about her, things that she kept to herself, that even Travis didn't know. There was always an air of mystery around her, she liked that, it made her feel safe.

X-X-X-X

“I'm home.”

She turned the key in the lock and pushed the door open. Swiftly, she shrugged off her blazer and folded it neatly over her forearm. She still smelt of cigarettes, despite drowning herself in some cheap perfume that she kept in the glove compartment of her car. Tough luck, she decided, if her own family couldn't deal with the smell of smoke they could just leave. 

“Angel!” He hurried toward her, an overly large yet completely genuine smile filled his face. She had a real love-hate relationship with that damned pet name. She supposed that it was nice that he considered her to be his angel, and, no, he had never addressed his ex wife in the same way, but it wasn't as though she deserved the name either. She was about as far from an angel as one could get. Hooked on the booze, the cigarettes and the sex - also known as her brazenly unhealthy coping mechanisms. How could a woman who relied on a bottle, a smoke or a shallow half hour be the type of person who could also be dubbed an angel? She called him ‘Babe’ and, in all honesty, there was never any confusion there.

“Travis.” She kissed him. She liked kissing him, his soft lips brushing against her harder ones. His hands would always slip into her hair, massaging her scalp with his fingertips. She was always more suggestive, her own fingers would travelled down his sides and cup his perfect little trouser covered ass. Was it bad that she wanted to have him right here? Right in the kitchen?

“I missed you Mads.” Another petname.

“I missed you as well, Babe.” She had a strong southern accent, much rougher than his articulate LA based dialect. 

“How was the appointment?” Travis released her from their embrace. He didn't seem at all phased by the scent of nicotine that she was laced with and he was most probably ignoring the fact that she tasted of cheap vodka. That was the thing with them, they lived in denial that anything was wrong. 

Paint on a smile, that'll get you through the day…

“A load of fucking rubbish,” she replied as she poured herself a large glass of red wine. “Just some guy talkin’ shit in a way that’ll supposably help me come to terms with what I experienced.”

“You experienced something traumatic…”

“And everyone keeps fucking tellin’ me that,” the blonde took a sip of her drink and squeezed her eyes shut. “Look at me, I'm fine,” she motioned to her form. “Look no bullet holes, and the kid’s in custody.”

Travis sighed. “I know you're fine, and you know how happy I am about that, but I want to make sure you're okay, you know, in regards to your mental state and everything.”

“Stop worrying about me, I'm fine.”

But she really wasn't.

X-X-X-X

“Mom,” Nick Clark hurried toward his mother, his long, ratty hair flowing out behind him. He was her son, her baby, her favourite. All parents claimed to not have favourites but she knew that they were all a bunch of goddamn liars. Everyone had a favourite, had the one child they related to more, had a Nick. She'd do anything for her boy, and it made her crazy, but she didn't care.

“Nick, baby, I hope you had a good day.”

He grinned, “just the usual. Luci and I went to community college this morning and now we’re all just hanging.”

Maybe it was because he reminded her so much of herself, that was probably why she loved him so much. He'd been a junkie, a heroin addict, since he was about fifteen, having only gotten clean about a year earlier. Addiction, it ran in his genes. She'd drink, he'd get high, and they both accept the fact that they were just killing themselves.

“Everyone else going okay too?” 

“Yeah, you can come and see ‘em if you'd like.”

Madison nodded. What would it hurt? Travis was still cooking dinner and he preferred to keep her out of the kitchen while he was in there. She couldn't cook to save her life. Her children had grown up on microwave meals while she'd stuck with the bottle. 

The boy lead his mother into the room that his sister shared with her best friend. Alicia was seated on the ground with Ofelia on one side and Madison’s stepson, Chris, on the other. Luciana, Nick’s girlfriend, sat to Ofelia’s left and there was a free space between her and Chris.

They appeared to be watching a show on one of their MacBooks. It was probably on Netflix, they all seemed to be hooked on the streaming site, and they were captivated by the screen.

“Guys, mom-slash-Maddie’s home,” Nick announced with a grin as he sat himself back down on the ground. 

Ofelia nodded and Luciana waved while Chris peered up from Peanut, the Clark family’s cat, for just long enough to greet his stepmom.

Alicia smiled, “you're home late tonight, mom. Travis said you had a work meeting or something.”

Ofelia glanced at the older blonde, her face creased in disgust. “Sounds boring as hell.”

Madison chuckled, more genuinely than she would have predicted, and shook her head. “It most definitely was.”


End file.
